Tonight, I'm Gonna Dance
by The Demon Ledger
Summary: Finnick Odair is a tribute in the 65th Hunger Games. Finnick Odair is the Capitol darling. Finnick Odair has to win.
1. Chapter 1: The Reaping

_A/N: Happy Valentine's Day everyone! I don't know if this will actually go up on Valentine's Day, but if it does, I hope you're having a good day - feel the love!_

 _Anyways, I'm departing a bit from my usual writing. I haven't written a story about the less involved characters from The Hunger Games, but I have a soft spot for Finnick Odair. I hope you enjoy this. Please follow/favorite/review if you do._

 _Have a good day of love everyone! ~B_

Chapter 1: The Reaping

Finnick Odair stood at his bedroom window, which looked over the ocean sidling along the long, long coast of District Four. Even at fourteen, he knew it was odd to be so full of thoughts so young. How was the ocean still so full of virility on a day like Reaping day? The muggy air, the jostling of the crowd, everything weighed the young, blonde boy down. He continued to watch the sea for a few minutes, trying to lose his worries in the tireless thrusting of the waves into the lonely and forgotten shore. He heard his name being called from the sitting room, but chose to ignore it, instead staring into the surf. He saw a young, redheaded girl running along the coast, laughing and bouncing about gleefully.

Turning slowly away, he shook his head to cast away any wary thoughts of the day. It was reaping day, and he was to have his name in the glass bowl 21 times. He would never let his friends at school or the beautiful people in the Capitol know his family was starving. His mother constantly ill and his father working on a fishing boat eight months out of the year, someone had to keep their family afloat. So Finnick bought tesserae, five of them. He heard his father call him again, and he slipped on a well worn shirt and a pair of simple sandles, feeling the pressure of the day weigh in on him.

"There you are Finnick, I've been calling you for ten minutes!" says his father impatiently. Dillon Odair wasn't a kind man, but he wasn't a brutal one either. Strong and weathered from years on a fishing boat, he turned to his son, a hard look in his bright green eyes; eyes that matched Finnick's exactly. "Are you excited for the Reaping today?" Finnick shrugged his shoulders apathetically, not knowing quite what to say to his father. The Reaping intimidated Finnick, that was a fact; but excitement didn't course through his veins as it did all the other boys and girls his age. He was terrified. Twenty one times his name was written in careful script on small, rectangular pieces of paper. He was seven times as likely to be drawn than any of the kids his age. And so what if he was drawn? He would die, and he'd get sent home in a small wooden box, and his parents would have one less mouth to feed. Of course, then his brothers would need to get tesserae, and what if one of them was reaped? He shrugged the thought off, looking still at his father.

"I suppose." he answered a little too late. "I have my name in there a lot of times, dad."

"That's true son, and if you get reaped, your mother and I will be very proud. We know you'll win! You've been working on trident skills at school, yes?" Finnick nodded in response to his father's question. Of course he had, he didn't really have a choice. District Four trained their youth from a very young age, no questions asked. He'd gotten very good at handling a trident as well. There was a certain finesse to the object, a power he felt while grasping the weapon in his long fingered hands. Finnick stood to his full height, almost as tall as his father was. He'd grown fast and high over the last few years, lengthening out to be lanky and strong, just like my father was before me.

My father patted me on the shoulder, smiling widely through crooked teeth. His mother, wrapped in a long shawl, shuffled into the room, eyes sunken and lips chapped. "Are you ready?" she asks Finnick hoarsely, a small smile collecting on her thin lips. She raised a hand to him, brushing it down his face. He nodded, happily looking at his mother. Today was one of her good days, he noticed as she coughed pitifully into her hands. Finnick ran to his room to collect a jacket, and then next door to pull his brothers up out of bed and get the twins dressed. The five year olds yawned and grimaced at the light, afflicted with the same sickly illness as his mother. He picked up both boys, carrying them gently into the livingroom where the family stood next to the tv to watch the usual announcement from the Capitol that aired before the annual Reaping. Finnick tuned out, finding President Snow's face achingly disturbing in its snakelike features. He looked out the window again, eyes catching red hair dancing through the thick wind as the same young girl he'd seen earlier ran through the surf back towards her house. She was skinny, but not emaciated, and he'd seen her in school before, a jovial girl a year younger than him. Her name was… what was her name? It didn't matter. If today went as planned, he would come home to eat dinner, and tomorrow go for a swim in the warm water that flowed so close to his tiny beach house.

Living right on the beach was a birthright, house inherited from his grandmother, and her mother before her. He knew their family would never be able to afford living here if it hadn't been for them. They would live behind the fish market with the rest of the poor, practically homeless people, where the smell of rotting fish permeated the air so fully, he was sure it wafted off the insides of the houses themselves. Finnick shuddered at the idea, watching the water flow, practically hypnotized until he felt his brother Troy squirming in his arms, yerning towards their mother. He set him down gently with his twin, Neemo, both running to their mom, who placed one hand on their backs.

"Ready boys? Finnick might be reaped this year!" she said, gazing down at them with so much love it hurt him. They cheered, and everyone started towards the door, then out, down the road, and towards the city center.

Finnick arrived before the rest of his family, waiting patiently in line for check in. He spotted his friend Auria, a small, sensitive girl who stood in the group of fourteen year old girls, and waved as the Peacekeeper pricked his finger and ushered him along towards his own group of people. He spotted Mags, the only living female Victor, an older woman he spent most of the days he wasn't in school with, learning to make fishing lures and hearing her muddied stories about the first of the Hunger Games. She was old, older than a lot of the citizens of Four, and he appreciated her presence more than most. The male Victor sat aloofly to the side. Finnick didn't know his name, just that he was a mean old man who valued the lives of the Tributes very little, resulting in many losses for Four in recent years. Finnick stood tall, reaching his real high of 5'7", scratching his bare chin. The boys around him whispered nervously to each other, but Finnick refused to look weak. He had a plan, and if he was to be reaped, he would follow that plan to his death.

His plan was to be appealing.

It made him sick, sicker than a lot of other things, to know that his only option was to use the looks he'd gained from his father and the straight teeth and height he'd won from his mother to his advantage. His sea-green eyes searched the crowd, spotting that same mane of red hair standing in a group of 13's. He shrugged, watching as the people that gathered grew into a larger and larger group on the teleprompter, knowing his family would be there somewhere, his mother leaning heavily on his father, not strong enough to stand on her own.

The Capitol anthem played, signalling an end to the raucous noise of the thousands of people in the crowd. Being one of the smallest, but densest districts had its perks for the Capitol, but it's distractions for others - all the people in the district lived within six miles of the Justice building, making it hard to contain the noise that happened morning, noon, and night. Finnick watched as the Seal of the Capitol burned onto the teleprompter, his eyes unwavering from the screen even as the district escort Caligula Token sauntered onto the stage, thematically dressed as usual. His high voice caught in Finnick's ears, and he grimaced, as he did every year at the sound.

"Welcome, welcome, beautiful citizens of this beautiful district, to the 65th annual Hunger Games." he swayed slightly in the spot, arms held from his body, as if dancing. Finnick chuckled under his breath, watching as the others kids in his section had their eyes glued to Caligula as if he was a god. Finnick didn't understand the appeal; he looked like the rainbow trout that his uncle grew in the large pond near his house, silver suit shimmering against his too tanned skin, hair the color of an ocean on a dark, stormy day. Finnick knew in that moment that if he was to be reaped, he would absolutely play off the subtleties of his own appeal. Even at fourteen he knew that he looked older, almost twenty in his appearance. "Now, if we can all settle down, perhaps I can start drawing out this year's potential victors!"

Finnick's eye twitched.

"Ladies first!" he said, clapping his small hands. His hand flustered for a moment in the bowl, pulling out a small slip of paper. "Marena Fischer!" A stocky looking girl come jolting forward from a large group of 16's, pumping her arms and grinning at the camera. She shakes hands with everyone and allows Caligula to raise up one hand in supposed victory. "How are you feeling Marena?"

"Oh, wow, Caligula, I never thought I'd get this opportunity. I thought I was gonna have to volunteer, but here I am!" Her eyes were empty, though her face showed her bravery. "Let's go Four! This year, onto victory!" She whooped loudly into the microphone, raising the volume level of the crowd even further.

"Alright, alright!" said Caligula, laughing as people screamed her name. "Onto the boys? Who's ready!?" he reached over to the bowl of boys names as the crowd went crazy. Finnick stayed quiet and stiff, heart beating so hard he was afraid it would pump straight out of his chest. He took a few calming breaths, closing his eyes. The moments between Caligula pulling the name out of the bowl and hearing him say it were excruciating. "Alright…" his eyes popped open as Caligula's well manicured fingers popped the tape off the piece of paper. "Let's see… Finnick Odair!"

The world went quiet.

Finnick couldn't feel his fingers, but people pushed him towards the exit of his age collection.

He was shaking, he could tell that much.

He needed to pull himself together before he didn't have a chance to change his image.

Finnick Odair smiled, white teeth shining bright, and lifted a well muscled arm into the air, waving at people he called friends, and to the camera, which projected his image everywhere; he waved to the Capitol, and the Capitol fell in love.

 _A/N: Okay, let me know what you think of this story. It's definitely a work in progress. 3 have a wonderful love day._


	2. Chapter 2: Us Versus Them

_A/N: Hey! I know it's been a few days and I should try to update more often, but I have now three ff's I'm trying to pump out, so I'll try to get a chapter out for each of those once a day, maybe a couple every few days. I promise, until my trip to California, there will be non-stop love and adoration for all of you that follow._

 _Please remember to review! Not to push, but reviews get readers and readers is what I need right now. Favorite/follow also if you're enjoying, but I really appreciate any reviews I can get, be it good, bad, or critical. Much love :) ~B_

* * *

Chapter 2: Us Versus Them

The first thing Finnick noticed about his district partner was her height, and then her girth. Strong legged and armed, she had to be at least his height, if not taller. She had dark skin, most probably from working on the fishing boats that was his district's main commodity over the summer, but there was a color that was unattainable simply from sunscorn that she carried with her, rich and formidable. Her teeth shine pearly in her mouth, not quite as white as Finnick's, but broad and straight. She wasn't exactly intimidating, but Finnick got the very serious message not to underestimate her potential.

"Finnick, look at you." said Caligula, bringing the lanky boy out of his reprieve. Finnick smiled in response, pushing his linen sleeves further up his arms. It was hotter out than he'd expected it to be, and had just ever-so-little forethought to not wear his nicest clothing. "You're what, fourteen?"

"Yes, sir!" responded Finnick in a calculated tone, wishing he knew how to be appealing. Girls his age - and older, for that matter - swooned over him at school; be it for his height or his ability to charm anyone at a whim, he was unsure. "And don't you dare think I'll let that hold me back." Caligula gave a very forced sounding laugh in response, reminding Finnick momentarily of Caesar Flickerman. Clapping his hands together, he summoned further noise from the crowd. Finnick gave a cheeky wink to the camera's, sending the crowd into another furious uproar.

Finnick was shaking so hard by the time they were ushered back to private rooms in the Justice Building, it was a wonder he kept standing for so long. The mahogany door slammed shut behind him, and he succumbed into a wave of tears. Never one to disappoint his parents, he tried to calm himself between breaths, breathing deeply through his nose and forcing the air out through his still trembling lips. He must look a mess, he realized as he dried his face on the edge of his rumpled shirt.

After another moment, his father entered, followed by his mother who tugged along his two brothers. They were all ashen, or, at least his parents were, eyes wide.

"Finnick," said his father in a rushed tone, kneeling down in front of where he sat. "Finnick you have to promise me something."

Confused, Finnick nodded quickly, accepting his mother's hand as she coughed softly into her scarf. She looked as though she had been crying, though he was confused as to why. It wasn't as if this was unexpected - what with Finnick accepting 5 tesserae a year, they were bound to add up eventually.

"Promise me you'll win, and you'll show those Capitol bastards that even children can do this. Sick, dumb…." he paused, collecting himself. Dillon rarely got heated, especially about the Capitol that he supposedly revered. "You just have to win. We need you back home, after all of this. Promise me, promise me you'll show them that even poor children can win, Finn. You'll win and you'll never let anyone hold you back." Finnick was swept up into a hug, disappointment filling him up. It was as if he'd expected his father to tell him something else, to tell him to lose, to not come home, to not kill. "But promise me you won't kill anyone." his father whispered this, and Finnick's disappointment and anxiety was swept away. He smiled softly, nodding his head. He kissed his mother on the cheek before they were dragged away by Peacekeepers.

"I love you both!" he yelled as the door slammed shut once more, and he was left alone. He was sure Marena had a lot of visitors. He'd seen her at school once or twice; she seemed nice enough. He waited in silence as the minutes ticked by, pondering his life. Finnick had just promised his father he'd win, promised he wouldn't kill anyone, both promises he wasn't sure he could keep. Of course he'd try, but no one his age had won in recent memory. He wasn't sure anyone as young as him had ever won at all. He had no reference to go off of, as most of the victors that had lived in the village were long since dead, or too drunk to ask. Mags knew, he was sure, but couldn't speak well enough to communicate it to him - though he was sure, now that he thought about it, that a simple nod or shake of the head would be enough.

Usually, it was One or Two that won the games. Three had two still living Victors from around the same time as Mags, Beetee from the 28th and Wiress from the 31st, now both in their later years, both quiet and humble, he'd learned from watching them speak of previous tributes. Four had once contained a substantial number, but recent years had gone to show that Four was still a low-ranking district. Of course, that didn't discourage their loving Capitol from lavishing with the best teachers in hand-to-hand combat in their field, funnelling money into training students of reaping age through "work", and Finnick's parents had done their best to send him to summer "work camps", which had proven to be boot camps to train them into merciless killers. He knew intricate knots and how to weave a net to capture his victims and skewer them like fish, how to end someone's life with a trident and knives, but he still felt out of place compared to his well-groomed partner. He thought briefly of the other districts, districts not so lucky to be called Career's, but his mind settled into horrified pondering of Two. He'd watched victors from previous years kill without flinching, and wondered if they'd all been born without a guildy bone in their body. What was this game to entail? He barely remembered last years swampy, dank forest, filled with venomous snakes and poisoned tree leaves. He had to remember to be careful not to eat anything he wasn't a hundred percent sure about.

The door was wrenched open suddenly, the sharp, demanding grip of a Peacekeepers white-gloved hand gripping him tightly around the upper arm, and he was off. Finnick, shoved roughly down the hall, caught the eyes of Marena being yanked smartly from her own room. She gave him a calloused grin, something glinting in her bright, almost yellow eyes. A thought came to him in a moment of weakness as the Peacekeeper shoved him with the butt of his gun: He may have to kill her. Shaking the morbid thought off like water off a duck, he came out the back entrance into the bright light and muggy air that surrounded them in a blanket of wet heat. He said goodbye to the smell of his home, salty ocean air biting at his nostrils and whipping his hair off his face. Shuffling his way, he made it to the car that held nothing but an annoyed Peacekeeper and Caligula, who seemed to talk animatedly no matter who was listening. He turned to them, shining a thick and dazzling grin.

Finnick planned to emulate him in whatever way possible, knowing the way to entice the thin minded Capitolites was to act like he belonged.

It made him want to be sick.

The car ride out of town was long, a speedy venture down wobbling streets to the train station that sat on the border of their lengthy, sloping district. He knew districts with smaller industries had boroughs or small towns, sometimes even cities with a mock-Capitol in the middle, where they all flocked for the reaping, but theirs was populated densely in one area, making travel to and from the center of town quick for most, but arduous and hauling for the farmers and fishers that lived out in the outskirts as these folk did. Finnick watched the green rice paddies roll by, secretly jealous of the men and women who worked there and didn't have to go to the Capitol to kill children in just a week.

Camera's followed them as they made their awkward ascent onto the train. Finnick grinned falsely, bright teeth straining against his wide lips. He felt a hollow nausea pour through him as he stepped onto the train. It wasn't as though he went through each day perceiving it as his last. This was a new, unknown feeling, and Finnick didn't like it at all.

"Well, here we are, on our way!" said Caligula, practically bouncing across the compartment in his ridiculous heeled and immaculately clean leather shoes. "We'll get there early tomorrow morning and go straight into prep for the day, breakfast first of course," he giggled, as though the idea of missing a meal was ridiculous. Finnick wanted to gag. "Dinner will be in just a little while, and I'll show you to the dining car. For now, I need to find your mentors, so if you'll excuse me." Mags made a point, she'd told him long ago, of disappearing for at least fifteen minutes to give the tributes a moment to adjust and Merlin, their other mentor, time to drink before dinner.

As Caligula bounced off into the frontward car, Finnick took a moment to survey his surroundings. The compartment they'd entered was luxurious, and Finnick could feel a blush rise to his cheeks as he examined everything. Fur blankets lay over the backs of the two couches in the long, wide car, each couch covered in a layer of lush, deep scarlet velvet that begged Finnick to touch it. Finnick couldn't name half the things in the room, and felt so out of place in the nice surroundings; his head was beginning to swim.

"You good?" asked Marena in a brisk tone.

Eyes wide, Finnick nodded, slowly settling himself in one of the plush chairs. Marena sat diagonal of him, stretching her long, dark legs to rest heavily on the coffee table. She looked relaxed, almost at home.

"What, you never seen this stuff before?" she asks, smirking and gesturing to her crystal and wine surroundings. He looks at her, brow furrowing.

"Have you?" he shot back, crossing his arms in a defensive manner.

"Oh yeah. Spent a lot of time with the mayor's son this year. Was gonna volunteer, even if I wasn't reaped, so I guess it's lucky I was and everyone knows not to mess with me, huh?" Marena replied with a wink.

"Oh, uh, sure. I guess." Finnick flustered out, blushing hard. "Why do you think no one volunteered for me?"

"What, you? Deer eyes? Nah, no one wanted to take what looked like the crowning achievement of your whole life away." she looked out the window, a dark cloud passing over her face for a moment before she turns back to him. "Right, well, before we get too entranced with the beauty of it all, or whatever, let's remember something. It's us against them, Finnick, you got that? One of us wins and our whole district 'reaps' the benefits," she puts air quotations around the word reaps, which makes Finnick smile. "or whatever, you know?" Finnick nods, not sure it was necessarily a question. "Can't let these 'real career' or whatever assholes get to us Finn, not even for a second."

"My dad calls me Finn." he comments, finding the repetition of his nickname, away from his home, oddly comforting, if not a bit off-putting.

"Yeah?" Marena grins.

"He says it's cause I might as well have fins, I'm so much like a fish when I get into water."

"Well, we best hope there's water there, deer eyes, cause if you can swim, we might just have a chance. My parents named me after the marina down the beach. Cause that's where they met… or whatever." she scrunches up her nose, as if smelling something foul. "Anyway, what's your plan of attack?" Finnick hesitates for a moment, unsure if he should reveal all of his cards to this girl.

"I'm not sure yet." he lies through gritted teeth. "Try to get sponsors, try not to die?" he shrugs. His plan was to be as magnanimous as possible, no matter how to the contrary he felt. He still was a little rocky, swaying as he stood. "I'm gonna go wash up, maybe try to find some clean, less wrinkled clothes. I'll see you at dinner." he tried his best to put a swagger in his walk as he made his way across the softly carpeted car, but just left feeling foolish.

* * *

 _A/N: So if you're wondering what's going to happen to Finnick's parents to make Mags his only family by the Third Quarter Quell, don't worry, I have a plan. I was actually going to make Finnick an orphan, but I figured it would be best if he had a similar backstory to Katniss, without the Capitol hating best friend and really anyone to confide in. Trust me, it will all work itself out in the end, and you'll find out maybe next chapter, why his family is the way it is._

 _If you enjoyed PLEASE leave a review. I could really use them, and every single one helps me. I will spend all my free time on my vacation writing, so if this story is well liked, I'll update it a lot when I get back. Have a good night, and don't forget to favorite/follow. ~B_


	3. Chapter 3: The Capitol

_A/N: I'm so sorry for the delay on this chapter. I have had serious writer's block with this story, but now I've re-watched Catching Fire and I have more of an idea of who Finnick is._

 _ **I have to put this in here: This story is going to contain slight provoking topics, such as the fact that after the Games, Finnick is sold for his body. In this chapter, you see the beginnings of that type of attitude towards him between he and his prep-team. I'm sorry loves.**_

 _Happy reading~_

Chapter 3: The Capitol

Finnick didn't leave his room for dinner, not even at the assertion of Mags. He couldn't face Marena again, couldn't go into this knowing he may end up killing her, or even causing her death. She was too sweet, too gentle; though her build spoke otherwise, her dark eyes held a warmth he couldn't lock into without beginning to feel guilty and cold.

"Finnick?" came her voice through his door. "Finnick, I don't know what… please come eat. I know you're hungry." He stood, still gazing out the window at the passing scenery. Wherever they were, it was beautiful. A pang of homesickness hit Finnick suddenly, and he made his way to the door, face set into a bitter scowl.

"What's that supposed to mean?" he said harshly, arms crossed tightly over his chest. His brow furrowed, eyes narrowing tightly.

"Well, nothing… just… I don't know!" Marena cries, throwing her arms in the air defensively. "I'm observant, and not just any fourteen year-old gets chosen; I know you had tesserae." Finnick's eyes narrowed further, his mouth puckering.

"How dare you assume such a thing."

"It's not like it's exactly secret who's poor in our district, Finnick." she spits back. "We're mostly well off in Four, right?" Finnick nods. "Well, it's pretty easy to pick out the few who don't exactly fit. Your mom's sick, your dad works all the time, so it's not exactly like it's hard to tell."

Finnick's head falls, tears pooling in his sea-green eyes. He was unused to the kindness Marena showed him, even in her harshness. "What am I doing here?" he asks, stepping out into the hall and into her welcoming arms. She rubs his back gently, then pushes him back, raising his head with two fingers on his chin.

"You're here to win, Finnick," she whispered back, eyes growing soft at the sight of his tears.

"What about you?" Marena shrugged, a smile breaking onto her wide features.

"Don't worry about me. I'm not scared." her face looked so sad, it almost broke Finnick's heart. "And anyway, someone has to win, and I hate seeing a child's life go to waste."

"I'm not a child." huffed Finnick indignantly.

"Ha! Alright." Marena gestured away from the door. "Come to dinner. Food's damn tasty."

Finnick laughs with her, but knows this friendship can't continue. He'd have to distance himself. Train separately to lessen the chance they'd cross paths in the Arena.

The weight of the Arena, of twenty-three still nameless children, of the cost of victory loomed over him through dinner. He ate quietly, speaking only when spoke to. Mags watched him through calculating eyes; he could feel the sparkling, wise brown orbs follow his movements. The food ceased to have taste. He could feel each bite slide, liquidus down his throat. A cold sweat overcame him - he was going to be ill.

"Please excuse me," he mutters, quickly rising and practically running back to his room. He made it not a moment too soon; the thick sludge of bile and his meager dinner shot up his throat. He groaned into the bowl of his toilet, sobs hitting him hard and suddenly racking his chest as he continued to retch heavily. He couldn't do this. Maybe it would just be best if he let someone kill him straight off in the bloodbath. He could let go of the confident demeanor he'd taken on, just be himself.

"Finnick." an unfamiliar male voice came from behind him. "Finnick, stand up."

Finnick recognized the man from several years of Hunger Games. He stood, turning to the taller man. He practically towered over Finnick, which was a feat, as he stood five foot, seven inches at fourteen. Finnick's eyes raised to meet his, confusion plastered over his strong features. His dark skin rippled impatiently as he crossed his arms over his chest. He was handsome, strong built and obviously a career during his games. He had rippling biceps the size of Finnick's thigh, and strict eyes which narrowed dully when making contact with Finnicks.

"I'm standing." he said sharply, eyeing down the man.

"Good. Now, tell me, why are you here?" replied his other mentor.

"Because I was reaped?" Finnick answered, a short retort that was clipped on the edge of his tongue.

"No."

"Then why?" Finnick asks, folding his arms over his chest.

"Because you're meant to be."

"Bullshit." he pushes past his mentor, into his train compartment. It's growing dark out in the fields that pass by, fall winds pushing, whistling against the slightly opening window. "That's such utter bullshit."

"Do you even know my name?" Finnick whipped around, eyes wide and startled.

"What? What does that matter?" his shoulders rounded out in a shrug, green eyes flashing as he looked at the dark, older man.

"It matters plenty." a smile caressed his cheeks, doubling the speed of Finnick's already racing heart. "Deucalion."

"Oh." Finnick looks at his feet. "I…"

"Never paid attention right?" he responds, sitting on the soft chair opposite Finnick's bed. "It's okay. Neither did I as a youth. Now, Finnick, you're how old?"

Finnick scoffs, "I thought you were supposed to know everything about me as my mentor." He plopped gently onto the bed, folding his hands into his lap.

"I am, but I want you to tell me anyways." The man had a distinctly calming voice, one that relaxed Finnick in a way he hadn't been since his name had been drawn out of the bowl.

"I'm fourteen." he whispers, feeling his eyes welling with tears again. "I'm scared."

"I don't blame you," laughs Deucalion gently, "I would be too. Fourteen, huh? No one that young's ever won. You wanna win, kid?"

"Course I do. Who doesn't?" Finnick practically laughs at the joke, reaching up to swipe at his tears. "I just don't think I will."

"If I have anything to do with it, Finn, you will." the smile on Deucalion's face is comforting and discomforting all at once. Finnick wasn't sure how to feel anymore, his hands shaking in his lap. He still felt sick, the thick meal too rich for his underdeveloped palate. "Do you want to eat more? You really should, honestly. Thicken up in the week you still can." He gestures to the door, rising and beckoning Finnick to follow. He pushes down his aching belly, deciding wholly on the fact that if he was going to win, he'd have to rely on someone. And if not his Mentor, then who?

* * *

The rest of the ride is quick, arriving in the early morning light that is set against grey clouds and alabaster pavement. Its stone was bright enough to make Finnick feel queasy again, but he pushes it down as they disembark the silver bullet train onto the wide road and embark into a long black car. It speed down the pavement, past light colored buildings made darker by the tinted windows. Deucalion speaks softly to Caligula, and they both cast worried looks towards their Tributes that only Finnick manages to catch. Marena is too busy leaning out the open window, blowing kisses and waving to screaming Capitolites. It's almost as if she belongs here. Finnick feels weighed down, outmatched, and overwhelmed by the suddenness of his situations, so much so that when they pull into the underground parking garage of the Tribute Center, and are escorted by elaborately dressed men Finnick assumes to be Avoxes, he's surprised by the brightness of even such a dreary place. They're lead away from their mentors to a large and open space.

"Hello, Mr Odair?" he turns to a tall, thin woman whose skin is almost vanilla in color, dotted with little black spots that could be freckles but are so obviously fake it shocks Finnick. He nods and allows her to lead him to a sterile looking area shielded only by a thin, light blue curtain made of some sort of translucent fabric. He can hear Marena gasping out expletives to his right after the sounds of ripping. What are they doing to her?

"Please remove your clothes and lay on the table in front of you. Your prep team will be here momentarily." her voice sounds almost fake, robotic in its monotonization. He wonders briefly if, perhaps, she's an Avox, and the technology in the Capitol so far surpasses that in the districts… the thought makes his head spin. He takes a moment to calm his shaking nerves before removing his clothing, folding it up and setting it on the floor beside the curtain so it can be delivered to my room. I lay on the table, feeling extremely exposed until I hear the high voices of Capitolites bouncing down the wide and open hallway.

"Finnick Odair, District Four," says the wide man standing in front of him as the curtain is whipped open. He has a high, nasally voice, and skin so dark it reminds Finnick of the ocean on a stormy day. The woman next to him has hair wrapped around her head in a shape that is reminiscent of something he cannot place, and she's a sickly yellow color. Her eyes are sunken in her head, her cheeks hollow, her nose long and pointed. She smiles, and her teeth are white and wide. He returns the smile, trying his hardest not to grimace. The last woman looks the most normal of the bunch, but her eyelashes are long enough that they drag across her brow when she blinks, and her eyes are all white. She is haunting. She has curling tattoos, black lace wrapping intricately up her arms and down her legs as well. Finnick is taken off guard by these people, so alarming in their appearance, his heart starts to race. "You really are a looker, kid." They go to work on him, shaping his brows, applying some thick cream to his face and chest that prevents hair from growing during the Games and a few weeks after.

"And just to be safe…" they strip him of all the hair on his body, then lather him in some strong smelling ointment, only to rinse it off of him and douse him in a stronger smelling perfumed liquid. His distaste for the Capitol grows immensely as they move around him, prodding him here and there, and he can feel wandering hands on his member, testing him, eyes lurking. He looks away each time, hands gripping the sides of the table in an attempt not to protest. In order to appear desirable to the masses, he has to first test the waters with the few. And how best to do it than this?

"Ah, wonderful." says the man again, clapping his hands today. "Mercia will be in shortly to give you a once over before you go up to your room." he and the other two leave, the one with the white eyes looking over him again before she goes, short, petticoated skirt bouncing around her thighs. Finnick sighs and shakes off. Mercia, his stylist? She, or he, didn't sound too bad. Then again, Finnick had only heard the name of this person, and was too scared to ask questions of his own. He sits up, letting his head loll back between his shoulder blades as he scans the ceiling. High beams stretch over it, the color of the ocean, which Finnick would think was on purpose if the ocean was any color other than blue.

A woman draws back the curtain slowly, a wretched smile plastered to her thin features. She was less scary appearing than her associates, this was for sure; her skin was the color of grey satin, shimmering with each movement she made. Her hair fell in neat, pale white curtains around her face, thick bangs falling just above her eyes in the deepest shade of black he'd ever seen. Her eyes were deeply blue, so deep he felt like they had to be fake.

But it was her tattoos that scared him the most. Thick, black snakes wound up each arm, starting at her wrists, fangs digging into thin and soft flesh. They wound over her shoulders and ended with a swoop around her ankles. Her dress hid very little of her pale skin.

"Mercia Lucci." she extends one sharply taloned hand, nails the color of blood. Finnick clutches it, trying his hardest to look unimpressed by her, and by the expression that is thinly masked by a wave of arrogance, he succeeds.

"Finnick Odair." he replies with the same cool tone. "So, I've been told you're here to give me the once over."

"Yes…" her voice manages a slight hiss on the 's' of the word, and Finnick notices the fangs that cause the odd shape of her mouth. "You really are very… attractive, Mr Odair."

"You can call me Finnick, Mercia, we're not exactly strangers anymore." Finnick gestures with a wide smile to his bare form, barely able to control his shaking fingers.

Mercia gives a laugh that sounds forced, a hissing, guttural sound that brings gooseflesh to Finnick's skin, and causes the hair on the back of his neck to rise. "But of course. As I was saying, very attractive. And by the brief look I got at your district partner, she's very beautiful as well. What luck." her voice is dull, almost boring in its sound, minus the distinct hiss that happens at each intake of breath and exhale of 's' on the end of a word. He could feel her snake like charm beginning to unravel him, which he assumed was the goal of her overall appeal. "So, there's not much to say. The chariot rides must be perfect, and you two are so dashingly perfect… so… Come with me." She gestures to a door in the back, and walks with a sway to her that is practically mesmerizing. Finnick follows, feeling exposed in his nakedness. He makes his way into the room, where Mercia plucks a long garment from a bag; it is a fisherman's outfit in a sense. Netted rope is thrown over his torso in such a way that he feels foolish, and is ordained with small shells and starfish, though Finnick had never actually seen a starfish in his life. He slips into a tight fitting pair of pants, which hug him in deeply uncomfortable places. He can only imagine what Marena is wearing and the fit she may throw afterwards. Finnick allows Mercia to spray him with silver glitter, giving him the look of a fish caught in a net, and then move his messy hair this way and that with her long fingers before finally settling on mussing it with a powerfully scented claylike substance that makes his hair feel heavy and sticky on his head. She dabs a light amount of makeup on his face, shapes his brows, and turns him into some sort of sea God before his very eyes. By the time she's done, he's unrecognizable. They turn to another door in the room, and exit through it towards the chariots themselves.

Finnick is put off by Marena's look, a combination of seashells lining her more intimate parts, and webbed netting that offsets her from him. She looks morose.

"I swear if I could, I would already start killing people. Our stylists, for starters. Then those silly bitches they call a prep-team. This is bullshit." Marena mutters under her breath as they climb up into their chariots.

"Remember, Finnick. Big smiles. We already love you, just make it even better!" says Caligula - Finnick hadn't even noticed he was there. He nods once, then looks to Marena.

"After this, there's only training and then the interview, and we're in the clear. No more makeup, no more bullshit. Just running and fighting and hiding, yeah?" he whispers. Marena laughs, then the chariots start to move. Finnick feels sick to his stomach again, and hopes the quick breakfast he'd shovelled down his throat before leaving the train would stay down. The doors open, and there's One, looking regal and dashing, and then Two, with their gold and silver get up, Three, electronic and blinking, and then Four. Their horses carry them at a slow trot that matches the other chariots, and Finnick has to shield his eyes with his hand for a moment to adjust to the light. He quickly covers this action by waving to the crowd, laughing and smiling, almost in enjoyment of their delight to his existence. Marena on his right, the crowd surrounding him, sound pushing out and overwhelming. They make a quick circle around the city center, where he catches a fleeting glimpse of the white haired President Snow, before they're turned back around and are shuttled down the avenue back towards the Tribute Center.

"Wonderful, oh you simply looked marvelous," beams Caligula when they return. Finnick is hot and sticky from the sun and whatever polished spray Mercia had layered over his netting. They step down from the chariot with help from an Avox assistant, and are marched to the elevators, where they are carried up to the fourth floor with only Eleven and their escort as company. Eleven looks bewildered and afraid as they ride the elevator up to just below the top floor. Finnick keeps the salacious smile plastered onto his face until he's in the large room that encompasses everything he's grown to hate in the last two hours of his life.

The Capitol.

 _A/N: It took me way too long to get my chapters up for these last chapters of every story. Today I just decided to sit down and pump them out like I should have days ago._

 _Don't forget to follow me at .com for updates on this and my other Hunger Games stories. I'm going to be starting school soon and don't want you guys to be out of the loop on why I may or may not be updating._

 _Hope you enjoyed this chapter. Please follow/favorite/review if you did. Each one gives me hope and a new reason to write._

 _Much love, stay safe, and have a good day!_

 _~B_


	4. Chapter 4: Train Me

_Please don't hate me for being gone so long. I really don't have an excuse, but if I need to pull one out, it would be: Life totally just got the better of me._

 _I'm going to try to be writing more often, but I don't know how often I can do that because of work and life. I'm going to try to be posting twice a week, but that may change once I get back home from California. So we will just have to see._

 _I love you all! Here is another chapter for and about Finnick. The Games close in…_

 _Read, read and stay sane, friends._

 _~B_

* * *

 _ **This story is rated M for mature themes, including sexual abuse, underage solicitation, death, and graphic violence.**_

 _ **I do not own any of Suzanne Collins' works, nor am I a paid fanfiction author.**_

 _ **This chapter is about training, and their private sessions.**_

* * *

Chapter Four: Train Me

The room is large, grand, with high ceilings and room length windows all along the west facing wall. Finnick takes a deep breath; the room smells itself of the ocean, pine, and some unplaceable scent that lingers a little too long in his nose, tacky and foreign. He turns towards the dining room, noticing the lack of a kitchen, and sees a large meal already laid out for them. It has a similar look to that of the meals on the train, but is grander, almost feast-like. Finnick felt small in that moment, overwhelmed and overexerted in his far too public appearance. He was young - so young - yet the way they had dressed him and the eyes that clammored to see too much of his youthful face and young form distressed him in ways he could barely describe. He felt picked over, touched…

He shook his head, trying to clear his mind of these impressions and unwarrented thoughts. He looked to his mentors, who stood quietly by the door, chatting with Caligula; or rather, Deucalion chatted, Mags bobbed her head in quiet submission to his words. Marena had already sprawled herself out on the luxurious couch in the livingroom, flipping between images of feilds and trees and fauna to Caesar Flickerman's pre-interviews to playbacks of past Games. Finnick couldn't stand to watch the blood bath again, wasn't interested in knowing past Games strengths and weaknesses. He was here to win, to hide if he needed to, but never to kill.

"Well, who's ready for dinner? Then it will be off to bed! You both have a _very_ big day ahead of you tomorrow and you simply must get your beauty rest." said Caligula, a frivolous, sing-song tone overtaking his voice. This makes Marena snort hard, and she pops up off the couch, staring Caligula down with a death glare.

"Beautyrest? Who cares about beauty? We have a game to win." she said, throwing her legs off the couch and slouching into the dining room. She sits down in one of the elaborate dining chairs and pulls a heaping plate of food towards her.

"Well, yes, dear…" Caligula saunters to the table, followed slowly by Finnick and the two Mentors. "But don't forget your interview… I will say, you have a ways to go if you want anyone to notice you for sponsorship." Marena looks at Caligula again, then shoots Finnick a wary look across the table.

"I think what Marena is saying," cuts in Deucalion, slowly raising a glass of wine to his lips. "Is we all have more to worry about than appearance here. Marena can get a good score in her training and one-on-one with the Gamemakers, and that would make her suitable for sponsorship, wouldn't you say, Finnick?"

Finnick looks up, mouth full of some savory, green vegetable and nods slowly. He hadn't truly been listening, more preoccupied with his own thoughts on the Game. The Games were always bloody and they always ended in something worse every year. He slowly chewed more of the food in front of him, not able to place anything but the giant fish that laid gently in the center of a table, looking more like a centerpiece than a part of the meal. The Black Drum sat poised, it's flat belly and girth leaving it propped upright and staring, eyes glazed over, into the space between Marena and Finnick. He looked at the spotted, flecked scales that dot over its drying flesh, feeling sick. He didn't want to end up like that; that fish, dead eyes turning white slowly, skin turning to flakes, fins fading and drooping. His mind wandered again.

What were the other Tributes talents? What did they do in their spare time that he didn't have the money for, or the time for? Was taking care of his family getting in the way of his ability to fight? Finnick pushed his food around on his plate, wiped his face with a napkin, and stood, clearing his throat once. Duecalion glanced at him, then smirked, continuing to chew his food.

"I think I'm gonna turn in early." says Finnick softly, pushing his chair in. Marena looked at him, eyes speculatory and full of concern. "Didn't sleep well on the train, y'know?" Finnick turns and leaves, walking down the hall to a large room with a large bed. Lace drapes covered the windows, filtering the artificial light from the outside into a soft, light yellow glow. The wall opposite the bed was humming with twinkling lights, reminiscent of stars. Finnick sat, staring at the fake stars, and looked around. The clock beside his bed read out numbers in bright red. The remote just in front of that made his palms itch with wonder and fury. How dare they have this much technology yet still let their people starve and die in the streets. Finnick threw off the netting he seemed to have forgotten about after the Parade, and stood, stumbling through the dark room to the bathroom.

The shower was hard to control, too hot and then too cold, the soap abrasive and then sticky sweet smelling. He scrubbed his skin with a soft, mesh fabric ball, and stood beneath the steaming water for a moment, thinking. Tears began to stream down his face, angry and hot. He didn't want to be here, didn't want to fall victim to this, didn't want to be alone, and yet, here he was, alone. His family across the country, and he was, of course, responsible for their fate. Was it never to end, this feeling of overwhelming responsibility that had fallen on his too young shoulders?

He turned off the stream of water and stepped out, surprised by the sudden gust of air that overcame him, drying him quickly and leaving him hot and slightly sticky from sweat.

"What is the fucking point of a shower if you don't give me the time to dry off?!" Finnick shouted, suddenly at his wits end. He grabs a towel off the hangers, moving it onto him and out of the bathroom. Sinking onto the bed, he looked at his skin, still shimmering slightly from the dark silver makeup that had been applied to his wholly exposed body. Tired suddenly, he picks up the remote to turn off the humming wall, but it changes to a sea scape before his eyes, waves crashing against a beach made of black sand and huge, never ending crests of rocks. The waves are a shining blue, cold in appearance. Finnick lays back, not bothering to pull back the blankets and is, in an instant, asleep.

* * *

The cold light streaming through the window startles Finnick awake, pushing his eyelids up and making him shiver. He wasn't use to this climate; buried deep in a set of mountains, the Capitol stretched high over the country of Panem - a shining beacon of light in the darkness that was the Districts. Finnick pushed up and out of bed, towel falling from his hips. He picks it up and goes to right himself when -

BANG!

His prep team bursts through the door, faces ablaze with the realization that they caught Finnick fixing a towel.

"Fuck!" curses Finnick, looking to them in a moment of silent rage. "A little warning, next time?" he pulls the towel tighter around his waist and bends down to get into the drawers he knew contained clean clothing. "I'm getting dressed and then I'll be out, give me a chance to wake up." Finnick continued rummaging for a moment, then froze, looking to his left. The three stylists still stood there, staring at him, impassioned. "Please, leave." Finnick's patience was growing thin, a snap to his voice he didn't intend. They scuttle out of the room, leaving Finnick to his own devices.

He pulls out a deep-blue v-neck top, which, as he dons it, he realized is made of a stretchy fabric that clings to his skin. Black cargo pants go on next, just a little oversized in an almost practiced way. He toes on some black trainers and slips out the door. Quietly making his way down the hall, he listens for Deucalion, not looking for a fight this morning. Deucalion had rubbed Finnick the wrong way, with his long-winded explanation of why the Games worked, how the Games worked… He made Finnick uncomfortable in all the ways Finnick already was.

Finnick sidles around the corner into a chair, and a plate of food is placed in front of him quicker than he could've believed. "Uh, thanks." He picks up his fork and a cup of coffee is placed in front of him. Marena screams from her room. Deucalion saunters past Finnick and towards her room. Finnick hadn't even noticed he was there. The screaming was one short burst, but Finnick can hear Deucalion berating the prep team for lack of decorum.

"You really think it's appropriate to just bust in on a child? She's sixteen for fucksake." said Deucalion, ushering the prep team out of the loft. "We'll be ready in an hour, just fucking hold out, okay?" He slams the door in their faces and takes his place back at the table, eating ravenously. Marena walks out of her bedroom, a stricken look on her freshly washed face.

"You didn't need to do that." she mutters, stepping past Finnick to sit across from him. "That was totally unnecessary, they're just here to help."

"Yeah well, they can help when we're good and ready. I'd rather not think about you being prettied up for -" Deucalion cuts himself off and clears his throat. "Do you have any idea if you would rather be trained together or separate?"

"Together."

"Seperate."

Finnick's and Marena's simultaneous responses makes Deucalion smirk almost contemptuously. "Fine, separate."

"But-" Marena's protests are silenced by a quick draw of Deucalion's hand.

"One tribute asks for separate, that's what we do." he says. "Marena, you can be with me. Mags, you can be with Finnick." Deucalion's smirk grows larger. "If you are to change your mind, Finnick, don't hesistate to let me know." Finnick just stares down at his plate, eyebrows crossed.

"How's it fair to chose which of us to train?" he says, tone low and dangerous.

"It's not. But neither are the Games. I hope you learn that very quickly, Finnick." Deucalion clears his plate, and after wiping his mouth with the back of his large hand, stands.

"Finished?" he says to Marena, who nods energetically. "Get dressed, both of you. You have training."


End file.
